Saturday, March 08, 2014

Moscow (Part IX - PINs and Needles)

I
managed to communicate to the hotel receptionist that I'm having a problem
accessing money and I needed to reach friends in Israel.
She kindly gave me a code for the hotel's wi-fi and said I could pay her back
later (the hotel charges 100 rubles per day for wi-fi access, the equivalent of
10 NIS
or $3).

I emailed my roommate and then sat on pins and needles waiting for her to write
back. She was out of town . . . wouldn't be back until at least tomorrow, if
then.

I emailed the Buxners. Since they were caring for Wylie, they had the key to my
apartment. They could get into my apartment and find the piece of paper with the code to my credit card. Since the card was new, I knew exactly where that paper was, thank goodness.

While
I waited for them to respond, I emailed Rusina and asked her to call me. On the
phone, she said that indeed I have a problem, since one cannot pay for Metro
cards with a credit card, only cash, so I wouldn't be able to get far until I
was able to access an ATM. For example, the MatrushkaDollMuseum
was out of the question until I was able to get a Metro card (or get cash to
pay for a taxi – either way I needed cash).

She
suggested that while I wait for the Buxners to respond, I go to the JewishMuseum and Tolerance Center.
It was just a few blocks from me and I could pay for my ticket with my credit
card. Its proximity also meant that I wouldn't be pushing myself too hard,
physically.

Relieved to be making productive use of my time at last, I walked to the
Museum. Actually, I plodded. Every step was an effort. At first I went the
wrong way and though I quickly realized the error and doubled back, I was upset
to have wasted the energy, even if it was only a block's worth of steps.

I got to the Jewish Museum. It's located in what clearly used to be a large
warehouse, and the entrance was around the other side. I walked the long path
around the museum, and discovered that on the other side of the path was . . .
a Jewish school. I knew it was a Jewish school because there were about 70 kids
playing outside for recess, and all the boys were wearing kippot and tzitzit,
and all the girls were wearing skirts. Based on what I knew of the Day School
scene in Moscow (thanks to my job), I knew this must be the chareidi school,
one of a few different Day Schools in town.

I was tired, but more importantly I was at last seeing my miracle, so I sat on
a bench on the path and watched the children playing. A Jewish day school in Russia!
They were learning Judaism at school, openly, without having to worry about the
KGB arresting their teachers. Who would have thought, when I was growing up,
that I'd live to see this? These children had been born after the fall of the Soviet
Union. They had no idea how lucky they were, or how special their
school is, but I knew. I wished I could hold onto what I was seeing and save it
to show my friends and family.

Finally I continued on, step by torturous step, to the Jewish Museum entrance.
I went to the ticket counter. The person there spoke English! He said a ticket
is 400 rubles (40 NIS/ $12). I
handed him my credit card. He swiped it.

And then he turned a little machine to me and asked me to enter my PIN
code.

So I took my card back and walked away.

It turns out that in Russia,
as in many other countries (but not in any places I've ever lived), you cannot
complete any credit card transactions at all without the PIN code. In the USA
and Israel, you
just hand over your credit card, they swipe it, you sign the receipt, and you
are done. In Russia,
they require your PIN (later, a Russian colleague in Israel
told me that she was appalled when she discovered how easily someone in Israel
could, in theory, fraudulently use her credit card). Intellectually I think the
Russian way makes much more sense. But right now, their intelligent credit card
security culture meant that I could do nothing, nothing at all, until I heard
back from the Buxners and they went to my house to find my code.

I emailed them again. I'm sure I sounded like a mad woman, and in fact, they
later confirmed that they thought I was a little nuts, because who goes abroad without
money? They didn't yet know all the details of how I'd gotten to this point. But in
any case, they were not at home. They were out celebrating their first wedding
anniversary and wouldn't be home until late. They'd try to get to my house
tomorrow . . .

I called Rusina because I didn't know what else to do. I was so embarrassed;
she's not a friend, but a work colleague (though friendly and helpful), and
here I was, in the very unprofessional condition of being sick and broke.

She said she'll think, and get back to me. A little while later I got an email
from her. I was to meet her at a Metro station about a 15 minute walk from the
hotel, at about 6 pm, when she was on
her way home from work. She'd feel comfortable loaning me the equivalent of a
few hundred shekels, enough to get me started, and then I could go straight
onto the Metro and be at the Bolshoi well ahead of the ballet at 7 pm.

I was relieved and grateful, but also nervous. Now I really needed that code,
not just to enjoy my travels and be safe but, more importantly to me, pay
Rusina back as soon as possible.

But there was little I could do until I met Rusina at the Metro at 6 pm, so I went back to bed for another nap.